


Ink Isn't the Only Thing That Bleeds

by Hoodedscarlet



Series: lace my veins (im broken anyway) [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Asphyxiation, Domestic Violence, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Multi, Self Harm, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, basically shit goes down in this fic make sure your body is ready, soulmate!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodedscarlet/pseuds/Hoodedscarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Soul mates'.<br/>The person who's very being mirrored another's in every way. That completed theirs in a way that nobody else's could. When a person is young, black ink appears on the wrist of their dominant hand, which shifts and changes until on the morning of a person's sixteenth birthday the name of the person they're destined to be with is written in cursive on the inside of their wrist. This ink draws the soul mates together when it is time (although many choose to use soul mate locators and the like to hurry the process along) and while nobody knows why it happens, people are happy to accept that somewhere out in the world there is a person that completes them.</p><p>And Michael despises all of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood

When Michael was thirteen, he clawed the insides of his wrists raw.  
  
In the aftermath, with his head light from adrenaline and the fluorescents making him cast stark shadows on the tiles, he laughed as he saw the black of his soul mate' mark finally gone from his skin. Even if it only was temporarily. The cocktail of chemicals in his body had sent him into a dazed state, watching the exposed flesh glint and shine wetly under his gaze with a morbid fascination. Because it was gone. It was _gone,_ the black that bound him to a person he didn't know, a person he didn't want to know because they had a power over him that no man should ever have.  
  
'Soul mates', they called it. The person who's very being mirrored yours in every way. That completed yours in a way that nobody else's could. The classic trope from every movie of the person whose eyes you looked into, and all your troubles were swept away in a whisper of “ _you’re mine”._ Over the course of their youth years, black ink would surface along a child’s skin, taking shape over time until on the person’s sixteenth birthday, the name of the person that was destined to be theirs would be plain to see, black and white on the inside of their dominant wrist. Nobody could explain why it happened – most people just waved it off as Fate.

But Michael was only fourteen years old and already he knew this 'soul mates' thing was a fucking joke. Sure, perhaps it’d been pure once, when travel was a luxury and all it would take was one touch to show that two souls were interlinked, their names appearing in cursive on each other’s wrists when they were actually ready to handle the stress that a soul mate, a _partner_ came with.  
But this was not a pure world anymore – not when DNA samples were circulated like blood flow by the government, ensuring that black appeared on a child’s wrist long before they could comprehend what it meant. Not when a society had built up that believed you were _nothing_ without your soul mate – that cherished the ‘child couples’ who’d been together since birth that didn’t even know what the fuck they were doing, let alone if they even truly were soul mates until they were sixteen. Not when double standards ran thick in the air because if you didn’t have a single, heterosexual sounding name on your dominant hand’s wrist you were a freak, abnormal and Michael hated it, he _hated_ this and nobody understood.  
  
A dribble of crimson dribbled down the pale skin of his arm, a sharp contrast in the yellowed bathroom and suddenly Michael was in hysterics, laughs that rattled the frame of a boy that was too young for thoughts like these. Too young to mourn the loss of his life which had barely just begun. He didn’t even know _why_ he was laughing but he continued to do so, gripping his knees tightly and reveling in the pain that shot up his wrists as he laughed and laughed with his blood seeping into his jeans and making them stick to his skin.  
  
He was drunk and delirious and it took him far too long to realize that he was laughing because he was free.  
  
-x-  
  
Time ticked away, skin healed and Michael Vincent Jones moved on.  
  
Sort of.  
  
The feeling of elation, of being free from the brand of his wrist for a few glorious days stuck with him long after he peeled himself off the bathroom floor and his blood curled away into the sink. And while his wrists had healed inside thick bandages, the ache reminding him that nobody had a claim on him, he belonged to nobody right now and frankly it was an intoxicating thought.  
But the months passed and the ink became more and more coherent on his skin. Not enough to read words though, never enough to read words. That was still a ‘present’ to him on his sixteenth birthday. But never the less it slowly drove a stake of dread straight through him. Because the only thing worse than the mere idea of his 'soul mate' ringing his both his wrists like handcuffs – which was already something that shouldn’t happen why did he have marks on _both_ wrists? - was actually knowing what name to curse when sleep wouldn’t come and his eyes were boring a hole in the wall.  
(He wasn't quite sure whether he didn't want to know for his sake or theirs.)  
  
In the dead of the night sometimes Michael would find himself turn to fan fiction websites. It was always god damn fan fiction websites too, but it was the only place he had found where the taboo tropes could be accepted, even cherished. And while there were some that he would never understand – m!preg instantly jumped to mind – it was within the pages of fiction that he found his true indulgence.  
The ‘Unmarked’ alternate universe.  
It was fiction, an alternate universe to his own that spoke of a world where love was easy and love was free. Tales that spun stories of a world that you had to rely on interaction and instinct and a beautiful sort of innocence to find the person you were supposed to be with instead of a mark on your wrist – and it was _hard._ People fucked up. Soulless people would lead potential partners along until they had nothing, others would settled with a person that they knew deep down would never make them happy, even some would just love too strongly too early and had to experience a ‘first love’s heartbreak’ as a few authors had coined. Michael poured over the stories, read every single one and tracked his favorites, and while he never put pen to paper himself he mulled over every inch of the idea deeply. Because it just felt… _Right._  
  
But daylight would eventually break and Michael would be faced with the reality that no matter how _right_ it felt he lived in a world where he had a timer on his wrists and an ache in his heart that pulsed every time the scar warped ink would catch his eye, set his fingers itching to tear apart the skin like a ripe fruit and let the juice seep down his forearms again. And sometimes, he’d indulge. But after a while the pain failed to soothe the ache. Hell if anything it started to beat along in time with his aching heart, a steady _beat beat beat_ that seemed to fill his brain until he wanted to go mad.  
There had to be a better way.  
  
The leather wrist cuffs were a decent price; he'd had his eye on them for a while walking past the shop to school each day, sitting on one of the higher shelves, out of immediate sight. But Michael saw. He saw and paused, and the price on the underside of the fabric was his ticket out of the destructive cycle he was cornered in (because a part of him thirsted for the adrenaline to hit his blood in the same crashing wave it had when he had been plastered to the bathroom floor that first time, it craved more blood and Michael was desperate but that voice was terrifying and he wasn’t that far gone yet _)_.  
  
The day he realized he could make up the amount, he skipped into the store with a light heart. The look he got from the shop keeper was a questionable one, but to have them in his hands was a feeling he couldn’t put into words. He cradled the two cuffs in his hands, the dark tan a wonderful contrast against his skin.  
  
"It's good quality leather," she had said, being a soft spoken woman with hazy eyes "it softens up wonderfully over weeks of use, very comfortable. Men tend to buy the matching set too – looks more fashionable I believe."  
Michael noticed later she wore a cuff of her own, a plain silver one on her left wrist. A widow, most likely. Cuffs were only worn by those whose soul mates who had passed on – a measure for those truly grief stricken who needed to physically block out the view of their soul mates name because it devastated them so much. It was a drastic measure, looked down on in all but the most extreme cases because it was denying the existence of your _soul mat_ e _–_ it was not an occasion to celebrate.  
  
Michael wondered what the shop keeper would think of the wave of relief that he felt as he clicked the cuffs shut over his wrists and threw away the key, sealing away the almost name on his wrists.  
  
 -x-  
  
It wasn't long until people noticed.  
  
It was little things at first, a double take as Michael sat down in class, with his wrists covered again, hushed whispers as he collected his food from the cafeteria. His birthday came and went, and instead of a gleeful whisper of his soul mate’s name at the stroke of midnight his life carried on as usual, the unknown name burning against his skin. The leather cuffs were a comfort, a tether that soothed whenever he doubted his actions. Honestly, he needed soothing more often than he would’ve liked to admit but in the end he was only sixteen – despite what society liked to say he was still a kid and trying to figure things out. (Of course, what he was trying to figure out was a little left field compared to most other kids though.)  
  
As prejudice tends to however, it grew - from curious looks, to lingering glares, to words spat and blows thrown. Jersey wasn't the easiest of places to live even in the best of times, but while Michael trudged to class day after day he learnt quickly that the halls were an unforgiving teacher who would either toughen him up or force him down. The cutting words wore his softness into jagged points, his innocence buried and lost underneath a plethora of swears and a shortening temper.  
  
"Hey, faggot, come back here!" He heard a familiar voice sneer after him – he'd never thought there'd be anything worse than being gay around here, but apparently being the fuck head he was Michael’d been able to find that niche market. His provoker today was the greasy haired kid that had traded in his brain for muscle and a bunch of goons – Michael didn’t know his name nor care for it.  
  
"Yeah you! Hold up you fucking pussy!" One of the aforementioned goons hollered after him.  
  
"Only when you guys come up with some better insults." Michael growled back, cursing silently as he realized further provoking them wasn't going to do jack shit.  
It felt fucking good though.  
  
"Oh, the little shit's speaking now?"

“What’s it to you?” He said, moving past one of the groups that still loitered in the middle of the hall. Everybody else had moved to the sides – they knew what was coming. It’d happened too many times before.  
  
“What’s it to me?” The greasy haired kid laughed “You’re walking around like you own the place again-“  
  
“I’m _just_ trying to get to class.” Michael snapped back, trying to keep his tone of voice as even as possible despite the rage slowly starting to bubble in his gut. “So if you would _excuse_ me-“  
  
“And let you get back to your friends?” He replied, before pausing with a cocky grin on his face. “Oh wait, you don’t have any! How could I forget that you’re a fucking loner? Maybe it has something to do with the red hair – you know, fucking soulless gingers?” Michael just continued to glare at his provoker as the kid stepped forward. "I bet you don't even have a soul mate, bet you just wear those” – he shoved Michael back by the wrists wrapped around his chest, spilling the books he’d been holding to the ground – “to try and make everybody think you do. How does it feel to know that nobody loves you?"  
  
"Nah," one of his goons piped up, the nasal tone scratching persistently against Michael's nerves and he'd only _just begun talking-_ "I bet he wears it because he's a little fucking homo. Can't handle it, can you, you pansy?" His provoker grinned, slapping his comrade on the back in a fashion that was jarringly slapstick in the situation.  
  
"Of course! Probably has more than one faggot’s name on him too." The first one cheered, going along with his goon's 'terrific' discovery. "He's probably their little whore and he doesn't want anybody to know or the whole school will start using him as a cum dumpster. Don’t want everybody to know how much of a little slut you are, do you Michael?"  
  
"That's a pretty fucking gay thing to say asshole." Michael said, allowing a smile to play ay his lips. "You volunteering to fuck me first? Maybe get sloppy seconds? Probably sloppy seconds, bet you love the idea of two men on you at once." The red head tapped the side of his nose and his expression straddled the line between cheeky and malicious. "You think I'm the 'fucking homo' in the room? If you’re going to say gay shit like that, think again."  
  
The first punch took him more off-guard than he really should’ve been in the situation.  
  
He tried to duck out of the way but he was just a second too late. Pain radiated out from the side of his face as he stumbled back, whiplash making his neck burn something wicked. He could feel something warm drip to the dip of his lip; the bastard must've clipped his nose as well.  
The burst of adrenaline was enough for Michael to be able to move around the next punch aimed at his gut, directing a well-earned kick to the kid's knees which sent him head over heels. An elbow to a rib sent another guy wheeling off to the side but in the end the fact of the matter was that there were four of them, one of him and no Prince Charming to come to his rescue. (If he could compliment the assholes on anything, it was how quickly they picked up on his sexual preference, but that may have just came down to the fact that Michael liked making his own life a living hell and being gay in a place like this was a sure-fire way of doing that).  
  
By the time the teachers broke up the fight there was blood matting the hair in front of Michael's eyes, one of his eyes beginning to shine something wicked as the greasy haired kid claimed “He started it! We were only defending ourselves Miss, _please.”_ ' The grovelling made Michael sick to the stomach - they'd get away with it again, no doubt. It seemed to help their case that the kid’s dad was the police chief, and another of the guy’s parents worked in the school administration, in close cahoots with his principal.  
  
The nurse, thankfully, was one of the most neutral parties at the school, and appropriately started muttering under her breath when Michael walked in once again, clutching his nose as dregs of blood continued to seep out. He was ushered into the sick room with an ice pack and a titter of ‘don’t worry about your classes dear’ that was practically scripted now although Michael knew there was genuine care behind the words.  
He chose the bed closest to the window, one that made him forget occasionally that he was in the nurse’s office as it overlooked the dense gully behind the school. In the other room he could hear the nurse calling his parents - not like they would pick up, anyway. They both knew that - they knew the system. He'd done it too many times not to.  
  
-x-  
  
For some reasons, his parents decided to give a fuck today.  
  
The dinner table in the Jones household was always a joke, a mock-up of something whole whenever Michael's mother decided they should 'act like a family' and 'enjoy a meal together'.  
Looking down at his plate of over mashed potatoes and beans the same colour as the overcooked meat, he wasn't quite sure what part of this he was supposed to enjoy. The redhead pushed the food around with the back of his fork, squishing the occasional bean and letting its floury insides sprawl out. Opposite him his mother delicately ate her own food - Michael could smell the whisky on her breath from here. She and her husband had been sharing the bottle since they had both arrived home - if the starry look in his father’s eyes was any indication they'd already drunk too much.  
  
"So, one of my friends from work told me he saw you in a fight with some meathead today at lunch." His father said, filling the silence of the room and by God Michael wished he hadn't. He fiddled with the hem of his electrician’s uniform; the fabric still had its new store smell and felt uncomfortably crisp on his shoulders.  
  
"What's it to you?" Michael replied bitterly, acid biting at his tongue.  
  
"My son's in his fourth fight this _month,_ that's what it is to me." His father replied. Already the ends of his words were melding together - the swig of whisky that he followed the sentence with certainly didn't help that. "I did not raise a son who picks fights for fun."  
  
"That's because you didn't raise a son at all." Michael bit back, a dark look in his eyes.  
  
"What the _fuck_ did you just say?" His father roared, stumbling to his feet and almost knocking his food to the ground, alcohol making his actions sloppy.  
  
"I said, you're a shitty father - can I even fucking _call_ you a father I barely even fucking see you. Hell, I think I know more about you god damn drinking than I do your personality!"  
  
"Don't you _dare_ talk to your father like that!" His mother screeched in return, also stumbling to her feet in a way that made her look exactly like her husband. (They called the habit 'mirroring', the way your 'soul mate' would mirror you movements - like two puppets moving on the same string. Most people called it endearing, saying the lovers were moving on their own wavelength – to Michael it was just plain creepy.)  
  
"Oh , like you can fucking talk." Michael shot at his mother. "You live for the moment that I left the god damn room - why the fuck did you even have kids in the first place? The money? Actually that might be it, I mean I can’t even fucking eat this so you must be spending the money somewhere. Probably on your god damn whisky."  
  
"We have done more for you then you would ever fucking believe." His father said, hissing each word out between his teeth like a curse.  
  
"What, paid for me to exist?" Michael replied flatly, eyes thin slits. "Oh, thank you so much, you're so kind and thoughtful to pay for your only son to barely survive. I am forever in your debt."  
  
"I have taken you to more soul mate locators than I can remember and you act like this."  
  
"Because all you're trying to do is make me somebody else fucking problem!" Michael screeched, slamming his hands down on the table and making the wood shake. "And I don't want this! I don't want anything to do with this soul mate bullshit because I don't want to end up like _you!"_  
  
"What the fuck would your soul mate think if she heard you right now?"  
  
"I don’t give a fuck what they’d think - I don't give a fuck what any of you think. I don't need another mother fucking person to make my life worth living, why can’t you see that?"  
  
A beat of silence.  
  
"So that’s why you wear those cuffs."  
  
"Why would you care?"  
  
"You don't fucking do that in my household." And suddenly there were hands around his neck as a jolt of pure fear went down his spine "We have soul mates for a fucking reason _Michael_ \- and if you can't understand that, then maybe I need to **make** you understand."  
  
And Michael wanted to scream at him, wanted to lunge at him and punch him in the jaw and maybe rely some of the emotional damage that stewed in his gut but the fingers on his neck squeezed and suddenly there were more important things on his mind as his breath was cut like a string. And this had happened before and he knew that struggling was the worst thing he could do and so he went limp, collapsing back in his chair as his mother fetched a knife or scissors or something. He didn’t know, he couldn’t tell as his hearing went murky and his senses honed on the grip on his neck.  
  
It took a minute for his father to saw through the thick leather of the cuff, but when it was off - _too cold too cold_ \- his father switched to the other wrist and it was a miracle the knife hadn't slipped and slit his wrist. Michael could just barely see writing on his wrist despite his attempts not to, the ink stark against the sun deprived skin; it took every ounce of control within him to not accidently read the name.  
When the other one was finally off - _the knife was too cold why couldn't they have just picked the lock?_ \- his father picked up each wrist, his calloused fingers frighteningly tight as he read the words on each wrist. He didn't even bother looking at the back of his wrists for confirmation; he'd drunk too much to think about something like that. But whatever he saw obviously didn't please him; he dragged Michael's wrists up to his face again and again, Michael stooped over like a ragdoll as he let his father do what he wanted to. Somewhere behind him, his mother hovered - doing what, Michael wasn't entirely sure but it wasn't like he was in any position to find out with the bruises already beginning black and blue under his skin.  
  
"You are going to get some sleep." His father said, trying to pronounce each word with some degree of clarity through his impending slur. “And then I am going to get you to a soul mate locator tomorrow so we can find these faggots you call your soul _mates_ so you can grow up and start living your fucking life.” Finally he let go of Michael, and the redhead slumped into his seat, eyes downcast as he faintly registered his parents leaving the room.

It took Michael a while to regain his senses – _his wrists were so cold, so cold –_ but when he did it was only just barely, as if morphine had been poured into his bloodstream to make his actions sluggish and cold. Slowly moving over to the sink to wash the taste of grey out of his mouth – _just breathe, just breathe –_ up the stairs, one at a time with nails biting into the handrail – _just breathe, just breathe._ Into the bathroom with a new set of clean clothes, bandannas tied tight around his wrists _but not tight enough I can see black **I can see black -**_  
  
And he was clawing at his wrists again and again and he could feel the adrenaline hit his bloodstream like a drug as he broke skin. Erased the blackened, tainted flesh with red so bright and so clean, cleansing and in the blood dribbling down his arms he finds a momentary peace from the panic in his mind. And in that lull in his mind, with déjà vu hitting him hard a single thought rose to mind.  
  
 _I need to get out._  
  
It was so plain and simple and Michael could have just laughed at how god damn _obvious_ the solution was. Because here he was trapped but out there – out there he could just be.  
With his wrists already beginning to ache (he regretted clawing them apart already) he walked into his room, beginning to shove clothing, chargers, anything he could think of off the top of his head that he would need – _need to go need to go._ The moon was already high in the sky and how long had that even taken? Last he remembered, the time was just after six and he was sitting down to eat – now it was nearly two in the fucking morning and he forgot just how quickly the world rushed past when he slipped into those stupors.  
  
Slipping on a pair of scuffed converses, he grabbed his money out of his piggy bank before heading down stairs. He could hear the living room crackle with the sound of a late night talk show – a peak in revealed his mother draped unceremoniously across the couch, snoring loudly. He moved on quickly. She held no interest to him, besides the yearn within him for a mother that would actually act like a parental figure for once.  
  
His father’s wallet was always left at the end of the bench – for all his supposed ‘faults’ his father apparently didn’t think ‘thief’ was one of them. But as he tucked bill after bill into his jacket pocket there was no denying that was what he was currently. His father would kill him.  
In rebuttal Michael supposed that he could drag up some of the labels he could use against his father in return – but that would involve dragging up painful memories and quite frankly he got by without those in his mind quite nicely, thank you very much.  
(There was a reason that the world ‘dad’ didn’t slip easy off his tongue. ‘Father’ was formal, ‘father’ was distant and he needed that precaution there even if it was fucking stupid.)  
  
He was three blocks away from home when he realized he’d forgotten his toothbrush.  
(When he realize how much he was probably going to regret this.  
He kept walking.)  
  
-x-  
  
The bus ticket wasn’t that expensive, but he swore he could feel the difference in the weight in his pocket. He didn’t know how long this money would last, he didn’t know how long _he_ would last out here in the wild of the world, where all rules were off if you fucked up.  
As he sunk into his bus seat and watched the early morning sun stain the sky and chase away the stars, he let his mind rest.  
  
-x-  
  
The coffee in Michael’s hands was comforting warmth, simpering in his grasp and radiating heat into his frame. He curled into it, the action shifting the jacket on his back into a position where it seemed to swamp him even more than before. Despite his best efforts his escape and cross country effort had seen him lose the chub from his figure, replaced in a few places by muscle but in most cases the weight had just disappeared entirely. He wondered if he looked like a street rat yet, with bag under his eyes yet a paranoid gaze, more of a clothes hanger than a man. The tentative sip he took of his drink took burnt his tongue and it took all of Michael’s self-control to keep himself composed as he slowly lowered the cup with shaking hands.  
  
The waitress perched on the counter, scribbling on a newspaper that was now out of date by a couple of hours. She looked like she’d been pulled out of a eighties movie and dragged through a bush backwards a few times; her eye shadow was a ghastly shade of green and _wow_ this was not the sort of stuff Michael would be noticing if he wasn’t delirious from lack of sleep and hunger. His pockets were worryingly light, and while he was free his lack of planning was hardly good for his building anxiety.  
  
His musing were interrupted by a man slipping into the booth opposite him, a coffee of his own placed in front of him by the waitress who looked as bored as one would expect of a woman stuck in the middle of nowhere. Michael just looked up at him with narrowed, sentencing eyes, but the eyes that met his were… Surprisingly warm.  
The man was obviously a truckie, the plaid shirt and the large sixteen wheeler just visible in the dark outside giving away his profession. Thin rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, which were promptly pushed up, and a dark red 5’oclock shadow was starting to grow in. So lost in his analysis of the stranger though, Michael hadn’t realized that he’d even spoken until the truckie was peering at him curiously and _shit_ he was way too tired for this-  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“I asked if you’d like something to eat?” The stranger said, pushing a menu towards him and oh, Michael’s pride was fuming but he was so _hungry._ Not saying a word he just nodded his head, taking the menu and reading through it. He could feel the stranger’s eyes on him, observing him just as Michael had been not two moments earlier. He wondered what the man was thinking – did he want something from him? After a moment Michael settled on the banana waffles, his stomach craving the quick fix of sugar. As the waitress collected away their menus the other man leaned across the table, offering a hand.  
  
“Jack.”  
  
“…Michael.” The Jersey boy replied, taking Jack’s gloved hand and shaking it, feeling the hidden strength underneath the initial warm handshake. But it wasn’t a menacing strength, no, it was the sort of strength a person one wants around them when the night falls and the bed feels just a bit too empty. “Look, I can’t pay you back for this so-“ Jack held up a hand; Michael obediently fell into silence.  
  
“It’s no problem, honestly.” Jack replied, a warm smile on his lips and it made one twitch on his lips in response. It felt… nice. There was a genuine care to his words, his actions that had Michael dangerously enthralled.  
Over their early morning feast of waffles (which Michael hadn’t realized Jack had also ordered) they made small talk. Michael adeptly deflated questions about his own situation, quickly turning each question on its head to find out a bit more about Jack. Just as quickly though, he found that Jack didn’t seem to mind at all. Then again, he was a guy that was barely twenty practically starving in a diner in the middle of nowhere and perhaps Jack had picked up his reasons for being out here weren’t pleasant.  
Michael found out his name was Jack Shannon Pattillo – he laughed unashamedly at the girly middle name, to which Jack told him in the most affectionate way possible to ‘shut the fuck up’ – and he was on the final leg of a delivery of computer parts that was going to take a few more days. He enjoyed playing video games, bacon, and apparently lived with a couple of good ‘friends’ of his back home in Austin. The last part made Michael narrow his eyes again, once more out of suspicion but not the sort that he was all too familiar with. It was more the breed of ‘ _are you sure they’re just friends. Are you really sure’._ When he confronted Jack though, to Michael's surprise he was the one to flip the subject.  
By the time their meal ended Michael felt sated in more ways than one, his stomach comfortably full. Jack seemed to pause for a minute, before leaning in again. Michael could smell the distinctive tinge of diesel that clung to him, along with something that just whispered to him _warmth_ and if he was going to be daring it smelt like _home._  
  
“Look, I doubt you’re going to accept but the trip out around here is pretty boring and you look like you’re going nowhere fast. So if you wanted, my truck’s got a free seat? I can pay you too-“

“Yes.” Michael said almost instantly. “Yes, I’d love that.” And there was a twinkle in Michael’s eye that hadn’t been there in months, and there was a grin of pure joy that spread across his face – and perhaps, perhaps this was the start of something beautiful.


	2. Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael has always despised the idea of soul mates, despite living in a world where the person you're fated to be with is marked on your wrist and nobody will let you forget that. But the Jersey boy could only take so much of the words, the taunts, the violence that followed him and soon he finally made the decision to run. By chance he met Jack, a truckie with a charming smile and an extra seat in his cabin - perhaps he can help Michael find the peace he is searching for...

“Fuck, this is the third time this song’s played today, are you kidding me?! _”_  
  
Michael slammed his hands against the dashboard, groaning loudly as the cheery song started up again. He could practically hear the generic pop song formula as the same familiar four chords rung out from the speakers, the singer declaring it was seven in the morning and she should really get her ass out of bed and eat something before she had to meet her friends by the bus stop. It was like the chick hadn’t even tried to sound intelligent.

“I don’t even fucking know.” Jack said, shaking his head in sympathy. “I don’t even think they’re listening to their own radio station anymore. “ While Michael had shaved off his stubble as soon as he’d gotten hold of a razor, Jack had allowed it to grow out and he now had the start of what Michael suspected would become a glorious beard. The older man scratched it absentmindedly as he continued. “I’m not sure who to hate more honestly – the record company for producing this, or the radio station for actually broadcasting it.”  
  
Michael just laughed at Jack’s comment, staring out the window at the desert that greeted them instead of replying. The road in front of them stretched out for miles, melding into the horizon some indeterminable distance in front of them. It was disconcerting in the strangest way – growing up surrounded by buildings that seemed to scrape the sky itself made these large exposed spaces so very vast, made Michael feel so very small. Of course, there was no place any danger could hide, but by the same logic there was nowhere _he_ could hide, unless he could do a particularly good rock impression on demand. Frankly he was just glad Jack was there; the now familiar, strong presence comforted him in a way that he neither expected nor minded.

“On the bright side, at least the radio hasn’t cut out yet.” Michael said after a moment sighing. “I mean, better some music than no music right?” But in that moment, Michael had forgotten the golden rule – by default, the universe hated him. Couldn’t stand him. And so when the static started to overtake the cheery music Michael should’ve realized, should’ve known. But…  
  
“God _DAMNIT!”_ He yelled, nearly giving Jack a heart attack as he yelled at Michael screeched at nobody in particular, quickly gripping the armrests of the chair as the truck swerved somewhat violently and oh _hey,_ it was probably a good idea to not yell like that again because Jack was kind of driving this whole she-bang and he really didn’t like the idea of wrecking in the middle of nowhere.  
Why the fuck did he even do that anyway? Honestly it was just a god damn radio station, it shouldn’t matter that much especially when Jack was more than decent company. They didn't need the background noise, they weren't some dating disaster that had to rely on the top 40 for conversation topics. And he’d probably pissed off Jack now too, hadn’t he? Yelling in a tiny space wasn’t nice on the ear drums and considering the guy have given him a job ( _a home)_ he should really be showing some more respect towards the guy. Fuck, and they’d had something good going on too, but he’d had to go and get angry over a fucking radio station how could he be so _stupid-_  
  
“Michael?”  
  
He could feel a soft touch on his shoulder but it was too close _too close don’t touch me don’t hurt me I didn’t mean it fuck I’m sorry-_ and Michael flinched away violently, shivering despite the fact it was hot as fuck outside. He could feel Jack recoiling and it just made him curse even more and he could feel the words bleeding out from his mouth and he wasn’t even sure what he was saying but he could feel himself getting closer and closer to tipping into that head space fuck _fuck fuck fuck-_  
  
The next touch he felt was on his forearm, and it was so soft Michael almost didn’t register it as being completely there but the comforting remained, radiating heat into his frame that suddenly felt cold, too cold and the sheer unusual nature made his eyes crack open. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t the sight of Jack looking worried – no, _frightened, terrified_ with his gloved hand still resting on Michael’s forearm and a strong presence that was chasing away the demons in his head. It took him a moment to realize the truck wasn’t even moving anymore and Michael hadn’t even felt the truck stop because he was so wrapped up in his own _god damn_ head. He didn’t even realize he was apologizing again until his ears seemed to click back into place.  
  
“Fuck Jack I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to fuck I’m-“  
  
“Don’t be sorry.” Jack was quick to hush the boy, taking a hand and squeezing it and he was being so nice and Michael didn’t know what to do with the show of affection so he just sat there looking dumbly at him as his Jack’s fingers ran soothingly over his knuckles. Already Michael could feel the anxiety starting to leak out of him, finally starting to pass as he slowly got a hold of his breaths and the erratic pace of his own heart.  
  
“Are you okay?” Jack said after a moment, warm eyes peering into Michael’s own and the action felt entirely too personal. He always felt raw after break downs like that but nobody had had the nerve, the audacity to come up to him and he felt flayed and laid out for scrutiny… and he wasn’t entirely sure why he wasn’t recoiling from the older man because this should be weird, this should be _wrong._  
  
“More or less-“ Michael tried to blurt out, but Jack stopped him.  
  
“Okay, I’m rephrasing that.” Jack said, shaking his head. “ _Will_ you be okay? And don’t lie to me.” He cracked a crooked smile. “We’ve still got another two weeks before we hit Austin and you know between now and then I’ll find any dirty secrets you’re hiding. Already done that before.“ Michael bit his lip, knowing Jack was referring to the one time he’d had found Michael’s jacket pockets brimming with squirreled away food like the truckie was going to kick Michael at the next bus stop. It certainly didn’t help that the food the younger man was supposedly going to survive on was chocolate and crisps – the meal the two of them had together following the discovery had proved to Michael that the diet that he was expecting to live on was neither delicious nor nutritious.  
  
“I… Think so. Yeah.” Michael said hesitantly. “I mean, honestly it could go either way at this point? I don’t know I- I've never really had to explain it.”  
  
“Its fine.” Jack said, the initial concern fading off his face as he started the truck again. “You don’t need to. I just want to know you’re not going to pull that on me again today. It’s kind of terrifying– you had me worried sick Michael.”  
  
 _You’re the first person to ever say that to me._ Michael resisted the urge to say. Instead he bit his tongue, choosing to favor window gazing over human conversation once more as their chatter lulled for the time being. The only sound in the cabin was the hum of the engine, the radio slowly phasing back in.  
  
“I’ll explain later.” He said after a moment.  
  
“Don’t.” Jack said. Michael turned to look at him, confusion evident on his face. “I mean, if you want to? Sure. I wouldn’t mind going on in that head of yours. But I know what you’re trying to do Michael, you’re trying to pay me back for all of this, aren’t you?”  
Michael just paused, before nodding slowly and sometimes he swore this man could read him like a book. “If you ever choose to tell me – and it will be a choice – you’ll be telling me because you want to, not because you have some sort of weird quota to fill.”  
  
Michael nodded. He wasn’t sure if he was going to keep the promise, but he was going to bloody well try. Jack was worth it.

-x-

Michael wasn’t sure when it started.  
  
Perhaps it was when he started to talk about school – how he had never been the brightest kid but still had at least a respect for the subjects he had taken, but the kids that stalked him in the halls had literally made it impossible for him to improve his grades let alone even get to all of his classes. Jack was ever careful, never striving to push Michael to go too deep into each of Michael’s stories. But Michael found himself doing so anyway, speaking of the ways they would corner him, spit and sneer at him for the most petty of reasons. He spoke of the way the sick bay nurse knew his name off by heart, knew him better than his own parents.  
  
Jack listened with a quiet intensity, and while he rarely spoke Michael knew he was listening. And not just listening an off handed motion either; there was a look in Jack’s eye and an inquisitiveness to his words and carefully timed questions that put Michael at ease whenever he spoke of his demons.  
(That’s exactly what they were too. Demons. With tongues of acid and blunt talons that ripped and caught instead of cut; they held his tongue and made his head spin because for Michael to speak was for them to lose power over him and they most certainly didn’t want that. Even now Michael couldn’t speak of what finally prompted him to leave – the skin on his wrists began to itch and that was _not_ a habit he wanted to start again).  
  
It was when one late afternoon that Michael’s tongue ran away from him.  
  
“I don’t believe in soul mates.”  
  
The words were so plain, so unassuming but despite the simplicity of the words they pieced together to form something so much bigger than himself and Michael regretted the words as soon as he spoke them. Because while they felt normal to him they were beyond taboo to anybody else and he could see the shock registering on Jack’s face as he double took.  
  
“…What?”  
  
“You heard me.” And Michael wished he could speak those words with the confidence that he believed them, because the fact that he was putting his friendship with Jack on the line for the sake of a belief he knew he could get away with just not saying – he’d done it for too many years now it wasn’t like he didn’t know how.  
But what caught him off guard was the fact the Jack started to _laugh_ – a full on belly laugh that sounded nothing but joyful,  _relieved_ and what the fuck-  
  
“Did you ever wonder why I always wear gloves Michael?”  
  
And it hit him like a steam train because oh. _Oh._ And suddenly Michael was laughing too because he wasn’t alone _he wasn’t alone_ and he fell against Jack’s side as he leaned against the solid strength and by god he’d been alone with this for too long and every feeling he god damn knew was surfacing as he reveled in the fact he wasn’t one of a kind.  
  
-x-  
  
To say that he was falling in love was a perfectly accurate description, and by the time Michael realized what was happening he also realized he was already promptly screwed over. Fucked with a cactus up the asshole, up fucking bullshit creek without a paddle because Jack was already kind of in a relationship, despite not looking twice at the soul mates names written on his skin. There were two men in Austin that were waiting for their sweetheart to come back and Michael would never be the one to pull a relationship apart. But there was a part of him that desperately wanted to curl around Jack as they both drifted off to sleep, that wanted to know what sort of shampoo Jack used, what he could say to make Jack go as red as his hair. And they were dangerous, _dangerous_ thoughts but Michael was no stranger to danger because his life was a constant life and death battle. And romantic feelings? A cakewalk in comparison.  
  
Possibly.  
In theory.  
  
Love seemed so easy in the movies but when you had to rely on instinct and blink and miss signs and god damn Michael had never been a subtle person and this was _hell_. All he could really do is just bide his time - but getting to know the guy more was far from off the cards.  
  
“So how did you figure it out?” Michael asked one night, biting into a bacon and egg sandwich as the sun set in front of them, painting the sky brilliant shades of crimson and indigo. “You know, the soul mate thing.” Jack sighed, placing down his own sandwich before resting his head on his hands in a way that made the man look simultaneously so much older and so much younger than he was.  
  
“Long story short, it was because of one of my best friends. She was obsessed with the whole soulmate thing, couldn’t wait to meet them and have the fairy tale ending. You know, the bonding ceremony, the kids, the family. She was such a family girl, couldn’t wait to hold her own kid…” He shook his head. “The day she turned 16 she went to a soul mate locator, paid top dollar to make sure they found her man, I think their name ended up being an Alex something or another, and to make sure to find him as soon as possible. I always thought those soul mate locator guys were a hoax when I was little – how the hell do they work so fast? How do you even get so much information on people?” He paused for a moment, taking a breath as if to steady himself. Michael moved a hand over Jack’s gloved one; Jack squeezed it tight.  
“They found her soul mate eventually. Supposedly. I still think it’s a case where they’ve gotten names messed up and they haven’t bothered to check the facts. But they found her soul mate and it was another woman and… God, you have no idea how destroyed she was. A girl that dreamed of nothing but a husband and family and suddenly it’s all been flipped on its head.“  
  
“That’s sadistic as fuck.”

“She slipped into the worst depression I’ve ever seen.” Jack said quietly. “Even I couldn’t get through to her and she disappeared so fast. After a while I couldn’t even get her to leave her room - she would just lie in bed and look at the wall, or sleep. She just gave up. And I tried so hard but eventually I gave up too and I still wonder what would have happened if I didn't but I just couldn't do it anymore. She talked of just ending it, that she didn't see a point to it anymore andI don't even know what happened to her and I- I kind of don't want to know. And after all that I had these marks on my wrists, and I… just couldn’t see them as romantic again.” He pulled his hands into his lap – Michael could see how strategically the gloves ended just after the marks would, tight enough to not see a single letter.  
  
“I know she looked too early and that’s probably what screwed her over, they always tell you those places should be a last resort but it’s not like anybody listens. Probably explains why so many people are in such shit relationships, trying to find their soul mate too soon and meeting them before they're fated to. But the thing is, I know all this. I know it now and I knew it then but I just can't live with the idea that somebody could break me like that. I wasn’t sixteen when it happened, I could cover my wrists and never even know their name. And it worked for a while. But then rumors started circling that a senior girl had my name on her wrist, a lovely Australian girl who in any other situation I would have gone head over heels for but I just… I just couldn’t deal with it. I-I ran.” His face was so pale, so scared and Michael went to tell him to stop but Jack kept going and perhaps he wasn’t the only one with demons.  
  
“I met Geoff and Ryan, and they helped me find a home, a job, something to live for. It’s kind of hard to find those when you’re supposed to live for your soul mate, isn’t it?” He chucked a bit, the sound strained. “And then we happened and... it’s just so _nice_ to fall in love without knowing something else decided that you would first, you know?”  
  
“Yeah.” Michael agreed quietly, the words hitting close to home. “Geoff, Ryan- Are they your…?”  
  
“Boyfriends?” Jack said, matter of fact-ly. “Yeah.”

“They’re lucky to have you.” Michael said quietly. “I mean, I've only known you for what a month now? And you’ve been incredible to me and I-I can’t thank you enough- and don’t tell me to not thank you because I don’t owe you anything and all that niceness bullshit you pull because I want to thank you.” And Michael could feel his mouth starting to run away on him but he didn’t care because Jack just bared his heart to him and he felt obliged- no, _wanted_ to do the same. “But you know what’s worse? What’s worse is that you’re so wonderful and hilarious as fuck and you actually listen to me for one - nobody’s done that for me except the god damn nurse and that’s kind of in her fucking job description. And you’ve just looked out for me and I can’t put it into words how I feel about you except I think I’m... and I l-… I lo-… fuck, this is hard-”  
  
And Michael would have cursed his inability to actually choke out the words, if it hadn’t been for Jack’s lips meeting his in a soft press and every thought of his flat lining because _those are Jack’s lips I’m kissing Jack what the fuck how is this happening this shouldn't be able to happen._ And nerves made his heart hammer in his chest and he hoped that the surprise that had seized up his body wouldn’t be mistaken as unwillingness. He could hear Jack hum – or was it laugh? – against his lips, before pulling back with a smile.  
  
“Come home with me.” He said with a smile. “Come meet Ryan and Geoff and then decide if you want to ‘fuck off’. But I really like you Michael, and I’m really happy you like me and I'd like to see if we can make this work.” And there was plain sincerity in his words that made Michael feel oh so very vulnerable – but for once he didn’t mind. And with butterflies fluttering soft in his chest, how could he say no?  
  
-x-  
  
Despite being fated together, it was never easy meeting a soul mate’s parents. It was a common trope in movies and books. Not included in the spell woven over the two beloved, the mums and dads of the relationship tended to be an open eye into the health of the soul mates' relationship, not to mention it tended to make the holiday season a whole lot easier if everybody got along.  
  
As Michael stood behind Jack with the house’s doorbell ringing, he concluded that in comparison meeting Jack’s boyfriends was worse. So much worse.  
  
Michael hadn’t even had a chance to see what the first man looked like before Jack was wrapped up in heavily tattooed arms for a tight hug, the man muttering something along the lines of ‘I’m so glad to see you’ and ‘I swear to god if your next delivery is just as long...’. He could see another man strolling up behind the two before hugging them tightly as well; the smell of smoke and steak hung to both of the and Michael wondered if that was dinner.  
  
“Who’s the midget?” The tattooed man asked, pulling back to reveal the most impressive mustache Michael had seen in a while.  
  
“I am _not_ a fucking midget!” Michael snapped back angrily, before having an _oh shit_ moment as he realized that he should probably try and keep a leash on his mouth because he was trying to impress these guys, not get murdered. The other man just laughed, blue eyes calm as they met Michael’s own.  
  
“Feisty. Is this the kid you were talking about?”  
  
“Sure is.” Jack said with a smile that spoke a thousand words that Michael couldn’t understand and for a moment he was terrified that he was in far, _far_ too deep for his own good on this one. But the tattooed man pulled back from Jack, spinning around to offer Michael his hand. The wrists were cuffed in steel.  
  
“Geoff.”  
  
“Michael.” He said, taking Geoff’s hand and shaking it. The handshake that greeted him was strong but just slightly sloppy, as if Geoff was more interested in actually talking to him than wasting time on weird formalities such as handshakes.  
  
“Ryan.” The other man cut in, flashing a killer’s smile as he also took Michael’s hands. That was the handshake that caught him off guard, while the guy had barely said a word since walking into the foyer there was a strength to his handshake that caught him seriously off guard; the sort of handshake that said ‘you fuck my boys up, I’ll fuck you up and don’t make me prove it’. Michael was almost glad to pull his hand back after that. The man wore leather cuffs that had been similar to his own - it made the faded bandannas still tied around his wrists feel painfully loose in comparison.  
  
“Come on, let’s go get your bags.” Ryan said to Jack, pecking him on the cheek as he ushered the redhead out, leaving Michael standing rather awkwardly in the hallway with Geoff. The man had tired eyes but a piercing gaze – Michael realized quickly that Geoff was just as capable as tearing him apart as Ryan was and that was _not_ a comforting thought.  
  
“Who’s your soul mate?”  
  
“What?” Michael said, taken aback by Geoff's pointed comment. “I don’t know-“  
  
“-If it’s Jack or one of us you can fuck right off.” Geoff said plainly. “We’re happy without you.”  
  
“I honestly don’t know! I’ve been wearing cuffs for years.” Michael insisted, Geoff’s eyes not softening in the slightest. “Why the hell do you think I’d lie about this sort of thing? I don’t want to steal your boyfriend!”  
  
“You think you’re the first person to try?” Geoff said, and there was a fierce protectiveness in his voice that made Michael want to run for the hills despite the fact he knew he was in the right. “Jack seems to really enjoy your company, but I’m not going to let Mr. Big Heart get crushed because you’re just another asshole and he’s too love struck to see it.” The sudden aggressiveness from Geoff was a surprise, to seriously understate the truth – Jack had described Geoff as the sort of guy that would rather throw a pizza party than a punch despite his military training.  
  
“Well Geoff, last time I checked Jack was a grown man capable of actually figuring out himself when a guy just wants in his pants or not.” Michael replied, daring to take a step towards the older man because okay, the guy’s scary as fuck but he’d survived a high school with practically every student in the vicinity hating him and that tended to make a guy stronger than you’d expect. “And sure, you don’t have to believe me when I say that I don’t give a fuck about my soul mates. But at some point you had to make the decision to believe these two and that worked out well enough for you, didn’t it?”  
  
Silence fell over the room, only broken when the two other men came in with the luggage from Jack’s jeep (he having left the truck at the workplace). The man himself handed Michael his own bag, a jacket he had missed while packing his things laid carefully on top.  
  
“Thanks.” Michael mumbled under his breath, thankful to see a friendly face after that conversation.  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” Jack said somewhat breathlessly in reply, an easy smile on his face and his cheeks red which _probably_ had something to do with the smug grin on Ryan’s face as he went to put away Jack’s stuff. Something told Michael they’d done more than get their stuff. “Now come on, dinner’s going to be ready and Geoff cooks the best steaks.”  
  
Michael was just about to tell Jack about the conversation he’d had with the man, but then he was ushered into the backyard and Geoff was offering him whichever steak he wanted with a smile on his face that was genuinely easy. And as the dinner progressed Michael could feel his previous anxiety roll like water off a ducks back, and perhaps this could work out better than any of them could have expected.  
  
It didn’t take long for Michael’s heart to open and realize that there were several reasons Jack fell in love with these two men – reasons he slowly started to savor for himself. Cuddling up with Ryan at three in the morning to watch shitty Netflix together when sleep wouldn’t come to either of them, hearing Geoff double over in laughter and swearing that somewhere in the world a kid was just cured of cancer, the calm from the three that would soothe him on the nights where the past seemed too close and his heart threatened to burst from his chest. He slipped into the rhythm of the household effortlessly, slotted in like a puzzle piece missing for too long.  
  
It wasn’t until he was cooking French toast one morning, when Geoff pressed him up against the fridge and kissed him so tenderly with the taste of toothpaste still on his teeth that Michael realized perhaps he could love more than one person. Wasn’t until Ryan pulled him over the breakfast table to kiss him sweeter than syrup while Jack sat back with a surprisingly smug look on his face. Head still reeling but the dorkiest grin on his face Michael was happy to eat his breakfast for the moment – and perhaps get his own back on the Gents when they least expected it.  
  
-x-  
  
Gavin came into their lives as strangely as one would expect a man like him to.  
  
Ryan claimed he saw the Brit first; while quickly popping out to get coffee for him and the boys on a rare Sunday they were all together the coffee shop was empty besides a young fellow that perched on the edge of a stool not unlike the way a pigeon perched on a window sill. A drink sat piping hot between his fingers; he sipped away at it while furiously scrawling something down in a notepad. He hadn’t even noticed he was hovering until the man looked up, hair sticking out in every direction known to man as he ushered the man over to take ‘a bloody load off’ and engage in some conversation for a bit.  
  
And Ryan really hadn’t meant to stay long but the man’s enthusiasm and vague recklessness was contagious and before he knew it an hour had passed and all the coffee he had so lovingly ordered for his boyfriends was lukewarm at best. But a vibrant conversation with a stranger was a rare thing and Ryan couldn’t help but not regret a word, even if he did have to spend double on coffee that day. (The note that Gavin had placed into his pocket with a cheeky wink and ‘you definitely treat your luvs, don’t you?’ had gone a long way in keeping the cost down for paying for that though.)  
  
Jack also claimed he’d met the man first; he’d only dashed out to get some milk and eggs and suddenly the heavens had decided to split open. It was not raining, it was not pouring, it was _thundering_ down and Jack groaned as he realized unless he wanted to look like a drowned rat and possibly take out an eye he was stuck in the supermarket.  
But then a cheery looking fellow had popped around the corner in raincoat and sporting an umbrella that was far too big for the guy who was thin as a rake, telling him to ‘get your bloody ass over here or you’ll be stuck there all day’. And Jack wasn’t really sure why he chose to trust the man with the comically large umbrella and nose and smile but anything was better than standing in a supermarket for the next who knew how long. Perhaps the initial trust also had something to do with the cuffs he could see peeking out the edges of the stranger’s long sleeved shirt.  
  
It wasn’t until Jack reached his street that he realized two things – that the Brit was surprisingly good company, and that despite his comical appearance he was walking Jack to his doorstep like a true gentleman – or a psychopath. Either way he’d continued to talk and match stride with the man beside him and before he realized he’d let slip a quip about his boyfriends plural and _oh,_ Gavin kind of didn’t know that part. He quickly looked at the younger man, subconsciously spreading his stance, steeling his shoulders... But the punch didn’t come. In fact, Gavin seemed more concerned with exactly how many there were, asking with a good humoured smile on his lips. It was nice to not hit some prejudice for a change, and by the time they’d finished talking the rain had slowed to a drizzle and not for the first time Jack was glad he’d accepted Gavin’s offer.  
  
Michael would then butt in with Geoff’s silent approval and say of _course_ he met Gavin first, what were the other two on about? He’d been out on the piss with Geoff, enjoying the light buzz that made the lights and the sound pump through his veins parallel to his blood. Geoff was never the sort to dance, but Michael loved the feeling of the beat flowing through him, moving his hips of their own accord. He had somewhat of a reputation at the string of bars along the main street to his delight – he wasn’t exactly complaining about the free drinks, nor the attention.  
  
It was in the thick of the crowd one Friday night that he first encountered Gavin.  
He’d shimmied up next to Michael with a clumsiness that made Michael wonder how the guy had even made it this far in without tripping and falling flat on his face. But when he began to move – oh, it was like _magic,_ the way that the stranger was able to match the swing of his hips, the roll of his body. It got to a point where they were practically fucking on the dance floor with Michael’s jeans dangerously low on his hip, a flush high on his cheeks and his pants suddenly feeling a bit too tight and Michael knew he had to at least buy the guy a drink – it was a miracle in itself Geoff hadn’t been paying attention and that he’d missed the whole spectacle as the Jersey man brought Gavin over and introduced the two.  
  
The three of them had spent the rest of the night together, and perhaps there had been a little bit of flirting on Gavin’s part, and _perhaps_ the two of them had flirted back because it was a fun game and Michael liked getting the blush to rise on Gavin’s cheeks to match the flush that wouldn’t disappear on his own. But they had to say their farewells at the end of the night – there wasn’t any way they could take Gavin back to their place and they’d have to discuss it first with the others anyway. (Fucking around really wasn’t their style – Geoff especially thought that it would never be something he’d consider - but then again he’d never really met somebody like Gavin.)  
  
All of them could agree on a few things though. Firstly, they’d all found Gavin attractive in one way or another from the word go. Secondly, they’d all immediately realized the moment Gavin disappeared that they had forgotten to get his number and been suitably frustrated about that. And finally, they’d all known exactly who Michael was talking about when he brought in a flatmate flier and Gavin’s name and number were scrawled on the bottom in spidery lettering.  
Unsurprisingly enough, Gavin was quick to accept their spare room to stay in, and was even quicker to move into the bed with the rest of them.  
  
-x-  
  
They were lucky they got to Ray when they did.  
  
The five boys had gone out for dinner downtown, since Jack had returned from another long stint away from home and Geoff wanted to do something romantic without the attempts ending up ‘with half of you dicks up against the wall with your pants down’. The meal was great too, and dessert ended up with Gavin drawing a ridiculous looking mustache onto Michael’s upper lip with whipped cream and Ryan mumbling something about them ‘being worse than children, my God’ into Jack’s shoulder.  
  
By the time they were kicked out of the restaurant though the night had well and truly begun, the streets empty as long shadows and yellowed lights patterned the asphalt. Geoff could see the sleazier characters of the night frequenting the alleyways – while he knew he and his boys would find no trouble in them he couldn’t say the same for anybody else. A stray cat leapt out in front of them; it streaked away before anybody could get an word in edge ways. Their chatter was light, good humoured – the car was only another ten minute walk, parked at Jack’s work.  
  
Geoff had been the first one to hear the scream for help.  
He’d set off at a cracker pace, rounding the left corner into an alleyway that looked worse for wear. But what he was really concerned about was the three men surrounding a crumpled body, the glint of a knife wicked in his hand.  
Disarm the first man. That was Geoff’s first thought as he kicked him to the ground, the knife sliding into the young man’s side. He seemed to have enough self-awareness to grab it and hide it under his body. Good. He wasn’t dealing with an unconscious person.  
He went to deal with the next man along but Michael had quite literally beaten him to the punch, the red head looking quite formidable despite his short stature as his opponent wheeled back. They would have returned the favour towards the final two thugs as well, but then the other three of their boyfriends rounded the corner and Geoff could see the exact moment the three assholes realized how fucked they were and hightailed out of the alley.  
  
Jack, typically, was the first one to crouch down beside the fallen man, grimacing as the hand he put on the guy’s back came away sticky.  
  
“Are you okay? Can you speak to us?”  
  
The other man paused for a moment, as if pondering the question before drawing up. His face was covered in blood – there was a good slash on his cheek and his neck looked as if he’d been kicked there repeatedly. The front of his shirt was in shreds; while the cuts weren’t fatal they oozed thickly.  
“Ray.” He managed to croak out, wincing as the speech rattled his sore neck. Jack was quick to shush him – Ray was going to do no good to himself if he kept on talking.  
  
“Can we take you to a doctor?” Nod. “Is there anybody that needs to know where you are?” A pause, before a slow shake of the head. Geoff and Jack lifted the guy up onto their shoulders –it only took one glance at the bloody wrists to realize what fate had befallen the guy. Hate crimes against those with irregular marks were hardly uncommon despite media saying that the circumstances were ‘improving every day!’. And the cheap cuffs that lay scuffed on the ground made Ray’s intentions all too clear.  
  
The rest of the night blurred together in a haze of white clothed staff and stitches and painkillers that made Ray’s head hazy. And perhaps it wasn’t the end of the night that the five were expecting or wanting but by god, they were not leaving the guy alone. They’d all been alone before and the last thing they wanted for this kid – god, slumped against Jack’s shoulder as they traveled home with the street lights adding on his face he looked so _young_ and none of them knew what to say because their hearts all ached and spoke the same thing.  
  
Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea to take the barely conscious kid home but with no idea of where to take him it seemed like the best choice. Indeed when Ray stumbled into the kitchen to the smell of pancakes, while he was as skittish as any person would be when in the home of five men that were intimidating to various degrees he soon was as happy as a clam tucking into Michael’s ‘bloody top’ breakfast. The five of them were able to gently tease the story out of Ray as he ate; the apartment he lived in with his family was ‘governed’ by a local street gang, which weren’t exactly tolerable of Ray’s unusual marks – or, what had broken the camel’s back, him trying to hide said marks.  
  
“I can’t go back.” He said, and even Gavin could see Ray was having a hard time accepting that. “I can’t even go and get my stuff. Hell, I have no idea where I’m going from here.”  
  
“You can stay with us in the meantime.” Jack said, causing the young Puerto Rican to look up, startled. “We have a spare bed, we’re not begging for cash.”  
  
“You can stay as long as you want.” Ryan said, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “And we can go and get your stuff for you. I doubt they’ll say no to us.” There was no discussion between the five men – there was no _need_ for discussion between them because really, did they need to talk about whether to give Ray food and shelter for a few weeks or months when there were people about that had proven they weren’t above harming him? Honesty, they were all just thankful he said yes.  
  
They lasted a month before Ray joined them in the main bedroom and Geoff finally caved and made a specialty order for a ‘huge as dicks’ bed.  
  
-x-  
  
“So I was talking to a guy today.”  
  
Michael lifted his head from Ryan’s lap, ignoring the sinfully nice way that the man’s fingers stroked through his hair in favour of paying attention to Geoff’s words. The TV hummed quietly in the background, background noise to the group that had collapsed for the week on the couches. The smell of pork roast wafted in the air.  
Gavin had done the same thing as Michael, lifting his head from where he was sprawled across a record three of the other guys to listen in to the Gent as well – Ryan, Ray and Jack merely tilted their heads to one side.  
  
“And?” Michael asked.  
  
“He’s a tattoo artist.” Geoff said, “The guy that’s been finishing up my sleeves. We got talking and one thing lead to another. Turns out, while he’s happily with his soul mate he’s been doing his research and talking with people and he can offer a more interesting services to… Us.” He held up his wrist, gesturing at his cuffed wrist. “Michael, Ray, Gav you guys probably wouldn’tve heard of it – punks used to do it back when they were a thing to be hard core. You know, because they were so in love they didn’t need to have the names to know or something along those lines. Turns out, if you tattoo over soul mate marks the ink from the needle disrupts the natural ink from your skin. It’s some weird biological bullshit that he can explain better than I can. What I _do_ know though is that these marks? One visit to the tattoo parlour and bam. Gone.”  
  
The disbelieving silence spoke more than anybody could really put into words at that moment.  
  
“And why exactly do you believe him?” Ryan asked incredulously.  
  
“I trusted him with most of this.” Geoff replied, gesturing to his ink laden arms. “And it’s not like I’m trusting him blindly here either.”  
  
“And I mean, let’s be honest.” Michael added, butting. “The fact that he’s actually brought it up already says something about it. He’s actually confident in it – and when is Geoff ever confident in this sort of thing? That’s more Gavin’s field.”  
  
“It was one time and thirty bloody dollars do you really blame me?”  
  
“And I think half of us nearly saw who your soul mate was in the process.” Michael shot back, rolling his eyes even though there was no malice in his words. “As much as I love you Gav, I’d rather see your dick than your wrists.”  
  
“Children, please.” Ryan said, laughing. “Let’s just all agree that Gavin’s an idiot and Geoff is probably onto something here.” Gavin just made a squawking noise in return that had Ray shoving his head into the side of the couch because ‘can you be quiet for one second?’. That wasn’t really the smartest idea on the Puerto Rican’s part as Gavin practically convulsed on his lap, nearly kicking Jack in the face and by the time the impromptu fisticuffs was over Gavin was on the ground with red cheeks and something between a smile and a pout on his face.  
  
“So Geoff.” Michael said, looking over at Geoff with a sincere look on his face that betrayed that circumstances had aged him well past his years. “You think this is a good idea?”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“Then I’m in.” Michael said, flopping back into Ryan’s lap. “I mean, trusted you with my life for what, a year now? Year and a half? Think I can stretch it a bit further.”  
  
“I’m in as well.” Ray agreed. “I mean, might as well, right?” The other four followed quickly in their agreement.  
  
“You sure guys?” Geoff said, looking at them all a bit stunned by the end. “I mean, don't you guys want to take a day to think about it? You don't have to agree now, for all I know it could all be a load of dicks-“  
  
“We know, you minge.” Gavin replied, turning to meet Geoff’s gaze. “But Michael said it too, _you_ aren’t tossing out the idea and that’s kind of pretty big. So let’s do it.” Quite frankly, Geoff couldn’t even try to hide the grin that spread onto his face after that – how could he? It felt so… permanent, in the best way possible. Not the permanence that marked his wrists, that taunted them all under their cuffs. If anything, it was a beautiful sort of confirmation, that despite the fact that on their wrists each man had the name (or names) of the person that was fated to love them they were willing to throw that all away. For him. For _them._  
  
“I love you guys.” He said almost breathlessly, leaning into Jack’s side as he took in the sight of his boys. The confirmation in return was all he needed to hear and more.  
  
-x-  
  
They made the appointment the next day, Gavin chattering insistently into Geoff’s other ear as he sorted out times and the more specific arrangements they’d need – after all, it wasn’t exactly a general run-of-the-mill tattoo the six of them were wanting, and there were a few special procedures they were going to need to put in place. Not to mention a simple blindfold wouldn’t work, as Jack sheepishly admitted that needles made him slightly uncomfortable and not being able to see while said needles would be stabbing into him made him a little too nervous.  
  
But a week passed and the day arrived, the gents heading in first early one Saturday morning. Considering it was going to take a couple of hours for each one of them, they had left the younger men in the pile they’d collapsed on the bed in the previous night opting to arrive with breakfast and a sort of tangible excitement following them into the store. It only intensified after Geoff paid for all of them and disappeared into the next room, dumping his cuffs onto his empty seat with a smirk and a ‘won’t need these suckers anymore’.  
Turned out, getting two thick bands of ink is somewhat of a time consuming process and it ended up taking the better part of the morning to get theirs done – by the time the lads arrived to swap over Jack was only just finishing up. But the energy, the anticipation, the sheer _emotion_ the three brought into the room was like a smack to the face. A sharp realization that made Ryan run his fingers over the newly inked lines, that made Geoff smile so bright. (He smiled so much now – he’d always been easy going, always smiled without a second though but now despite the fact it wasn’t humanly possible he seemed to be smiling more than he didn’t and there wasn’t really a downside to that.)  
  
Gavin, surprisingly was the first Lad to disappear into the other room, saying something about wanting to get it over with and he wasn't going to faff about and be a tosser or something. He reappeared the fastest out of anybody, wrists shiny and red and their tattooist laughing as he remarked that if he didn’t know any better he would have thought Gavin had gotten heaps of tattoos considering the guy barely even flinched. Ray was quick to quip back that Gavin was able to take ‘quite a pounding actually’ and really, he was lucky that he was the next guy in line or he would have paid for that comment a lot more than he did. Nether less, it did result in animated chatter between the other five guys – the Gents had planned to disappear far earlier, but if the Lads had anything on their side it was their enthusiasm and it was killer at convincing the older guys to stick around.  
  
Michael was the last to disappear into the other room – into the clean, crisp studio with framed tattoo designs covering the walls. He was quick to relax into the chair, the hum of his boyfriends’ chatter soothing what few worries he had, making the first prick not nearly as painful, the minutes fly by even as the chatter faded to a slight mumble. It wasn’t like he was new to the process; the various game insignia that covered his arms were a testament to that. But the extra blanket of comfort that was the presence of his loved ones made it just that much easier.  
Nothing could prepare him though for when the tattoo artist told him it was finally done. Could prepare him for being able to pull his hands to his face, to see the skin of his wrists for the first time in years and not have the urge to rip and tear. To know that there were six other men that shared this same tattoo… He actually could feel himself starting to tear up as he thanked the artist, moving into the other room.  
  
Gavin was the first one to him, grabbing his wrists with a surprising lack of empathy for the pain he was in. He was about to yell out because  _fuck_ that hurt – but then he saw Gavin’s wrists. Black bands, still red and shiny touching and matching his and there was a part of him that sung because _we match, we match!_ And he knew that it really shouldn’t matter to him but it didn’t stop him from crushing Gavin into his chest, and it definitely didn’t stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks as each of his boyfriends encircled him. He was here. He was _home. A_ nd nothing could take that away from him.  
  
“Denny’s?” Gavin piped up after a while. His suggesting was met with a round of approval and growling stomaches, the guys finally breaking out of their large hug to start filling out the door. Michael was quick to catch Jack though, pulling him back by the hem of his shirt. He could instantly see the concern on the redhead’s face – he was probably a bit of a hot mess right now too, with shiny cheeks and red eyes. But he just smiled a smile too bright to be fake, leaning up to peck the gent sweetly on the lips before lacing their fingers together. They walked out hand and hand, Michael quick to speed up because ‘asshole, they’re about to drive away why the fuck are you walking so slow for?!’ and soon they were barreling away, their laughs echoing into the quiet of the evening.  
  
Back in the shop their tattoo artist wondered, not for the first time, why he had needed to tattoo across those same six names over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opps.


End file.
